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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24760513">have i told you lately that i love you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor'>lethargicProfessor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Gods (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24760513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The goddess Columbia, Our Lady of the War Effort, receives a letter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Columbia/Donar the Great</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>have i told you lately that i love you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work is not to be reproduced or reposted on any site or app other than Archive of Our Own, Tumblr, and WordPress (LPWrites/LethargicProfessor). This work is available for free on these sites, and is not to be used or sold for profit by any third parties or apps.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not that Columbia dislikes Media. In fact, she’s more than aware that Media has been instrumental in her resurgence, the proper face of America as it were. Media’s gotten her face plastered on posters and murals and the sides of biplanes, and she knows, deep in her bones, that Media can make or break her in an instant.</p>
<p>So when Media waltzes into her living room, all perfectly curled hair and picture-perfect red lips dressed in olive drab, Columbia musters a smile in return, standing to meet her. “Media, what a surprise!”</p>
<p>Media beams in return, placing a kiss on either side of her cheek as she embraces her, her hands on Columbia’s arms sending unpleasant shocks across her skin. “I had to see our star!”</p>
<p>Media feels like the air before a storm, all charged up and ready to let loose with electricity. Donar feels like that too, except where he’s all anticipation, natural beauty and terror all rolled into one, Media is artificial. Mechanical to the taste, unpalatable. </p>
<p>Columbia keeps a smile up, though she feels acid on her tongue. “Did you now? You didn’t have to come all this way, Media. You coulda sent a telegram.”</p>
<p>“I’m actually here to deliver something.” Here, Media pauses, straightening her olive green skirt – a mockery of a WAAC uniform of all things – before digging into the brown leather satchel at her side. Columbia bites back any snarky comment that threatens to bubble out; Media’s costume is too perfect, too tailored to best accentuate her features, another pretty lie to lure the girls and boys of her country into the war effort.</p>
<p>With a flourish, Media holds out a thin letter, her smile beatific though her eyes stay glassy. “For our Lady of the War Effort.”</p>
<p>Columbia takes the letter, and the feeling of dead that’s lingered in her chest since the first inklings of war began so many years ago seems to throb and pulse and grow. “What is it?” Wary, she begins digging a nail under the flap, frowning at Media. “You don’t do house calls or deliveries.”</p>
<p>Media shrugs, pretending to tuck back a stray hair though her curls are still impeccable. “I just do what I’m told, Columbia. We’ll be needing you at the studio in a couple of hours, so don’t be late!”</p>
<p>With a smart salute, Media saunters out, gone as fast as she arrived, though the acid buzzing of electricity lingers in the air.</p>
<p>Columbia frowns after her, then at the letter. It feels ominous even as she turns it around in her hands. No return address, though it’s postmarked from Philadelphia. She doesn’t know anyone in Philadelphia, and she’s hardly kept up with the old gods since she came to Hollywood.</p>
<p>“C’mon, Columbia,” she breathes out, shaking off the unease as she tears the rest of the envelope open, shaking its contents out onto her coffee table.</p>
<p>The main contents seem to be a newspaper cut out, folded neatly to fit the smaller envelope, and a thin scrap of paper with scrawled writing that seems almost familiar.</p>
<p>She picks up the scrap of paper first, frowning at the words.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Thought you should know.’</em>
</p>
<p>There is no signature, no identifying features, no real way of knowing who the hell sent a notice important enough for Media to deliver. Irritated now, Columbia crumples the paper up and tosses it over her shoulder, unfolding the newspaper clipping instead.</p>
<p>It’s an article from the New Philadelphia Daily Times, dated a couple of weeks back. It’s a sizable article for what it is, and the acid Media brought in threatens to make Columbia hurl proper.</p>
<p>“Famed Fighter Donar Odinson found dead in his Philadelphia home,” Columbia breathes, the words blurring as tears sting her eyes. The half-obit, half-sensationalist article goes on for at least a few more paragraphs, but Columbia can’t manage more than a few sentences before the tears overwhelm her.</p>
<p>A rumble of thunder shocks Columbia out of her stupor, and for a brief second she hopes it’s him, Donar, handsome and sweet and all hers. Who doesn’t know Thor? Why wouldn’t he come back?</p>
<p>But the obit burns into her hands, the cause of death front and center, as much of a shock as the headline itself. Suicide. A shotgun to the chest, because of course Donar would make sure.</p>
<p>Columbia sits in her lavish home, surrounded by all the pretty things she whispered and yearned for on cold nights when it was just her and Donar and that shit club Grimnir poured himself into, and mourns, and the skies mourn with her.</p>
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